


The Heart of an Assassin

by m1shac0ll1ns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassin Dean Winchester, Disowned Prince/Captain of the Guard Castiel Novak, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Throne of Glass AU, WIP, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m1shac0ll1ns/pseuds/m1shac0ll1ns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is the greatest assassin in Etaecia, in fact the greatest in all the Earthenlands, but he made the worst possible mistake. He got caught.</p><p>Serving a life sentence in the Bracian salt mines,  there is little hope for the nineteen-year-old killer. That is until the young Captain Novak offers him a deal: his freedom for his pledge of servitude to a king Dean had once vowed to kill. All he has to do is represent Crown Prince Michael in a brutal competition, fighting for the title of the King's 'Champion'. Live or die, Dean will earn his freedom, but the man who walks out of that arena will not be the same as the boy who walked in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely based on the awesome novel 'Throne of Glass' by Sarah J Maas so I didn't want to write it with out recommending this book to you. Seriously, it is perhaps my favourite book ever and the whole series is great so read it! However, I just couldn't not make it into a destiel fic - the circumstances were gold - so here we are.
> 
> This is my first fic guys so please be nice - I take constructive criticism well, not so much with hate. I will try to update as regularly as possible but I have a lot of college work to do as well, sorry! Even so, I really hope you enjoy it!

_“Dean, sweetheart, come and meet your new baby brother, Sam.” Mary was sat in her bed cradling the newborn close to her chest. Four-year-old Dean stepped closer, unsure of how to approach._

_“Go on, son.” He felt the light weight of his dad’s hand gently guiding him towards the old metal frame that bared the weight of the torn straw mattress of his parent’s bed. He looked up to see the reassuring smile his dad was directing at him, though the smile couldn’t disguise the weariness in his eyes._

_His parents had been up for hours whilst his mom gave birth and he knew that his dad had feared for both Mother and newborn son’s life during that time. He knew because, even though he had been told to stay outside, he had peered in through the doorway. He knew because he had overheard the doctor telling his father to ‘prepare for the worst’. He knew because even a four-year-old could understand what that meant for his mom and baby brother._

_They had pulled through though. The doctor had called his mom ‘a fighter’ and said that, although his baby brother would be weaker than most newborns, he was already promising to be a determined character, and that his dad didn’t need to worry anymore. They would all be alright._

_It was this thought that compelled him to take a cautious step towards his mom. As soon as Mary saw him walking towards her, though, she beckoned him over, and that was all the encouragement he needed to turn his cautious steps into a run and jump up on to the bed._

_He crawled across the sheets to peer into the scrunched up face of his baby brother. He looked peaceful, lying there in his mother’s arms. Mary cooed softly and bounced the baby gently, until he let out a tiny sigh. She smiled softly and looked up at Dean, who gave her a toothy grin in return, to show her how much he liked the new addition to the family._

_John sat down on the edge of the bed now, wincing as the metal creaked loudly. There was a tense millisecond in which everyone held their breath, before Sam suddenly released a loud cry._

_“John.” Mary chastised as she bounced the baby. Gently trying to coax him back to his peaceful rest._

_“Sorry.” John winced as the baby’s cries grew louder. Nothing that Mary tried seemed to calm him at all._

_It was then that Dean started reaching out. “Can I..?” He cautiously asked his mom._

__

_“If you think you can calm him down, sweetheart, please.” She handed the baby across to him._

__

_For a four year old, the baby was heavy, so Dean cradled him in his lap, gently rocking him, like he saw his mom do._

__

_“Shh, shh, shh. It’s alright.” He tried pulling his hand up and wiggling his fingers in front of Sam’s face to distract him. “Here, whas’is?” He linked his thumbs together and flapped his hands to create wings, just like Mary did for him sometimes. “S’n Angel. That’s what mommy says. She says they’re watching over you, so you don’t have to be sad no more.” He looked up to meet his mother’s proud gaze and smiled. “S’ok now, he’s not sad ‘nymore.” And that was absolutely true. Sam’s tears had turned into laughter as his big eyes chased Dean’s hands. Suddenly one of Sam’s tiny baby paws reached out and grabbed Dean’s finger and shook it. “I think he likes me.” Dean laughed as he tried to pull his hand away, but the baby wasn’t going to let go anytime soon._

__

_Mary and John were positively beaming now, too. “I think these two are going to be inseparable.” Mary sighed happily, leaning her head on John’s shoulder._

__

_“I think you might be right.” John smiled and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead._

__

_Dean, meanwhile, was in his own little world, playing with his new favourite brother. “I didn’t think I’d like having a little brother,” Dean murmured, “but now I know I want to be a great big brother! I’m going to be the best big brother ever, and you’re going to be the best little brother. I like this,” he smiled again at his mom and dad, “and I decided I like you, Sammy.”_

__

_Sam let out a gurgling laugh and gave his brother a wide gummy grin, but he still wouldn’t let go of Dean’s finger._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little snipet. I am planning to update within the next week or two but it may be longer since I have some pretty important exams coming up.


	2. Freedom is an Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to finally update, I am a terrible person, but here is the next chapter. I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be up but don't worry, I will see this fic to the end. I know how annoying unfinished fics are and I wouldn't put that pain on anyone.

*Bang* *Bash* *Clash* *Clink Clink Clink* *Crash* *Crack* “Aaaarrghhh” *Bash* "PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT!" *Crash* “AAAHHHH* *Clink Clink Clink* *Crack*

The music of the salt mines rang in Dean Winchester's ears as he was paraded through the dank, dark corridors. Six guards in front, six guards behind. Usual routine.

 _I do not fear._ These words Dean repeated to himself every morning. They were the words that reminded him who he was - The EarthenLands' Greatest Assassin. He knew no fear. He also wasn't sure he believed those words anymore.

Today, however, there was an addition to his morning parade party. A strange hooded figure walked next to Dean, with nothing but a sharp jut of jaw to be seen beneath his cloak.

The assassin was sure this had never happened before, not in his 378 days of forced labour here (he wasn't sure why he was still counting). The hooded figure stood tall, although not quite as tall as Dean, and his posture was rigid, far more rigid and straight than any common mine-guard Dean had seen. The way he walked, he may even have been nobility. He was slim too, although Dean could make out lines of lithe muscle beneath his cloak and his shoulders were relatively broad - there was clearly undetermined strength beneath those layers, and there was no way Dean would underestimate this stranger. He walked at slight jaunt to the left, however. It was barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Dean knew exactly what to look for. What could be used against his opponent in battle. He made note of the limp, since, if he was to combat the mysterious figure, it was an important detail for knocking him off balance.

They walked through the corridors in silence, weaving this way and that, until Dean started to notice a change in the stone of the walls. Gone were the raggedy salt walls of deep underground, now they were walking past walls of carefully cut sandstone, smoothed by craftsmen. He had only seen these once before; on his first day when he had been dragged through them before being thrown in the hellhole of the mines. He finally knew where they were. They were in Bracethrift; the fortress that loomed over the salt mines, reminding the slaves of their destroyed freedom, of the chains that ripped at their ankles, and of the luxuries that they would never see again. Dean grimaced and stared at the chains that bound his wrists. He hated this place and he hated the people that walked its halls, the mystery man walking next to him being no exception.

"Are you planning on keeping silent the whole walk? If you're gonna hide your pretty face, at least let me know what you sound like." As Dean had expected, the mystery man ignored his smartass comment. He knew the man was only wearing the hood as a form of intimidation, as was he going round in circles throughout the fortress so Dean wouldn't know his way out. He knew he had seen the same staircase three times and a canvas that lined one of the corridors twice. The assassin wasn't fooled so easily. He noted three exits by doors and 8 from windows. He also recognised the metallic glint of a sword that hung from the strangers belt; close enough that Dean could grab it and defeat all his guards he wagered, if it weren't for the infernal chains tugging at his wrists. Mystery guy immediately drew his cloak over the sword hilt as soon as he noticed Dean looking and, for a split second, he glared at Dean through his hood.

His eyes. They were all Dean could see before the man looked away but, crap, were they enough to throw him. They were a startlingly deep blue. Far bluer than any sky or ocean Dean had ever seen. How was it possible for that blue to even exist?

Dean was snapped from his reverie by a sharp cough. "We're here." The guard (or blue-eyes, as Dean had nicknamed him) spoke in a low tone. The depth and gravel in his voice caught the young assassin off guard, and he stumbled to a stop, all thoughts of appearing graceful gone from his mind. It wasn't at all what Dean had expected, but then again, neither were the eyes.

It was only now that he realised they had stopped in front of two great doors. Heavy, wooden and at least 10ft tall, the doors were being heaved open by six guards and a pulley. What lay behind them? Dean had a good 30 seconds of pondering this, until a rough hand on his shoulder pushed him forward and he practically fell into Bracethrift's Great Hall.

The hall was not magnificent, as one might expect of a hall in a fortress, but rather dim and grey, made to dishearten its hardened criminal entrants as they entered the frying pan before being thrown brutally into the fire of the salt mines. It was huge; its ceilings were perhaps 40ft high above them and the hall's length was even greater than that.

The first thing Dean saw, however, was the floor. Cold, hard Etaecian granite. The hardest stone in all the Earthenlands; it could not be worn away and, as Dean had discovered on his first day, if you were thrown against it, a broken nose was the kindest outcome. The whole room was made out of this cold, grey stone, and the only thing even resembled decoration in this unforgiving place were the four wrought iron chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.

It was only after the assassin had taken all of this in that he began to notice the people. His twelve guards had lined up either side of him and the stranger still stood next to him but now there were other people in the room. Some of those who lined the hall Dean recognised from his first day here; cold looking officials who ran the Bracian mines. And then directly ahead of him was a sharp-nosed, dark-eyed man whom Dean recognised as Zachariah, the cruel manager of the mines who took great pleasure in beating the hope out of his slaves in order for them to comply to his ruling. Dean's back suddenly itched as he remembered the pain of the 30 whiplashes that man had rendered onto him the day he arrived at the mines. He scowled. That man was the first on his kill list when (if) he got out of this foul place.

The tall, broad, grey haired man next to Zachariah Dean didn't know, however. He had a nasty sneer constantly plastered on his face, and his steely gaze hadn't left the Winchester since he was so rudely shoved into this hall. Dean's eyes moved quickly on from him, as his gaze was making him uncomfortable, and onto the other six guards standing at the end of the room. These were not steel-clad, spear-carriers like the mine-guards, but rather wore crimson jackets, embroidered with the symbol of the roaring tiger.

Crap. Dean knew that symbol. They were the royal guard.

Before he even looked any further, Dean's mind went into a frenzy. This was it. He was dead. He was important enough to warrant execution from the Royal guard themselves. They had finally come to take his life. Shit.

But then a voice spoke out; "So this is the famous Dean Winchester? I have to say, I was expecting him to be.... older." The tone of voice was not unkind, almost curious in fact, but the articulation was sharp. A voice like that could only have been born in the royal palace itself.

Finally, Dean looked up to see the one figure in the room his eyes had passed over before. Sitting on the throne like he owned the place (which, Dean reasoned, was not a ridiculous assumption) was a young man, couldn't have been older than perhaps 25. He stood up and started walking towards the assassin as if he was there to inspect him. His hair was jet black, his eyes a steely grey-blue and his jaw could have been chiselled from marble. His royalty was evident and before Dean knew it he was stood face to face with the Crown Prince.

"Bow before your Prince, boy!" barked the older man with the nasty sneer, who Dean had all but forgotten about, and before he could even put his hands out to protect himself the floor was rushing up to meet him. He landed with a nasty crack, winded and hardly able to move. "That is how you should greet a future king."

"I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect, which, clearly the Winchester does not wish to declare." The low voice of the stranger broke through the ringing in Dean's brain. It struck Dean that he actually sounded genuinely confused at the matter and, despite his pain, a small smile couldn't keep from breaking Dean's lips.

"Quite, Castiel." Castiel? What kind of name was Castiel? "Duke Campbell, I know full well that you respect me but I do not expect this hardened assassin to, only to serve, if he wishes. Please, help him up so I can speak to him standing."

Dean was beginning to feel like a ragdoll, as he was pulled up by the hooded man once again. The pain caused his vision to flash white but when he recovered he noticed the man no longer wore his hood. For a second Dean felt his jaw go slack, for the man, now known as 'Castiel', was an image to behold. Like the prince, he had dark hair (Dean was beginning to think dark hair and blue eyes was custom for the Etaecian capital) but his, rather than being slick like the princes, stuck up in various places where the hood had scraped over it. He was, again, young. Older than Dean, but not by much. And then again there were his eyes. Wide and bluer than blue, looking at Dean as if he were a specimen under the microscope. Dean Winchester suddenly became very aware of the layer of dirt that coated him head to toe, and the fact that where once he was only muscle bound, ribs were now prominent. He felt like a nothing. A nobody, under this man's scrutiny. Shouldn't it be the prince making him feel like that?

"Winchester. Don't look at me like that." Castiel almost growled, as Dean became very aware the he was full on staring, his mouth hanging open and everything.

"Captain Novak, just step away from the prisoner if he makes you uncomfortable. There is nowhere he can go anyway." The Prince drawled lazily. Captain Castiel Novak took a step away from Dean, eyeing him distrustfully. Simultaneously all the guards around the assassin lowered their spears. Ready for any wrong move he made. Dean grinned. "Well, it's nice to know I'm trusted."

Again his comment was met with a stony silence, although a small smile did play on the Prince's lips. Tough crowd.

It was Prince who finally broke the silence.

"Dean Winchester, I think it's about time I discuss with you my proposition."

*****

 _“I don’t want to do this.. job.. anymore, Dean. I want out. I want to head East and lead a_ normal _life.”_

_“A normal life surrounded by the very people who took everything from us, Sammy? Yeah, I don’t think so. Besides, you’re 14. There’s no way Bobby’ll let you go out there on your own.”_

_“I don’t_ care _what Bobby thinks. I don’t want to do this anymore. Killing people. Innocent people. Can’t you see what we’re doing is wrong?”_

 _“Most of them are far from innocent, Sammy. And besides, we need the share of the money we get to live. We_ need _this job.” Sam had had it in his head that he wanted out for weeks. Dean couldn’t understand why he had changed his mind so quickly; a few months a go he was fine to just get the job done and move on. The annoying thing about his brother was that he just had this way of persuading Dean, meaning he could hardly ever refuse. Now was no exception and when Sam brought out the puppy-dog eyes, Dean knew there was nothing he could do. He rubbed that back of his neck and sighed._

 _“Alright, one more job.” Sam pouted. “_ Please _, Sammy. This one has a lotta money riding on it. If we pull it off, we might have just enough to get farther than Etaecia, even as far as Anafrynn, if possible. I can’t get stuck in Etaecia, you know I can’t.”_

_This time it was Sam’s turn to sigh, but he conceded. “Ok, one more job. I don’t want to be stuck under that King’s rule any more than you do.”_

_Dean smiled, “Thanks, Sammy.”_

*****

A proposition. Dean's mouth went dry and his heart started racing. A _proposition_. What could the Crown Prince possibly want to offer the world's greatest assassin? He could kill the Prince right there and then. Easily. That would wipe the smug look off his face... He had a chance to destroy Etaecian royalty, as it had destroyed his life a long time ago.

But perhaps his proposition could mean freedom. If his Lordship was planning on getting Dean beyond the walls of Bracethrift, then Dean could run. He could get away from here, from them, from all of this. Go back to doing what he was good at. Or maybe, just maybe, he could run for good. He could hide in the forests of the mountains, alone, and live in peaceful solitude for whatever remained of his life. He just needed to get past the wall....

"I'm listening," was all his witty persona would allow him to respond.

Michael smirked at Dean's attempt to be casual and Dean felt as though his eyes were looking right through him. Some animal instinct in him wanted to jump and tear his throat out for getting past his mental walls somehow, but Dean restrained. He had to see this through. And besides, what were the chances of him getting to the Prince's throat before a spear reaching his lungs, anyway?

"Guards, take your leave. I must have words with our esteemed assassin here, alone." As the guards shuffled out, Dean wanted to laugh. How could the prince possibly think this was a good idea? But he felt Castiel's cold, unreadable expression on his back and he realised, perhaps the Captain of the Guard thought he could contain Dean if he tried to escape. So he was a fool too.

Apparently Zachariah agreed with the assassin on this and was trying to convince Michael to allow a few guards to stay but the prince refused, and everyone continued filing out, including, much to Dean's relief, his new enemy (the hit list was getting longer by the hour), Duke Campbell. But Etaecia's Assassin couldn't shake the feeling that there was a reason Michael wanted him alone. The Crown Prince didn't strike Dean as stupid, so what could possibly make him so reckless?

At the moment, Dean was generating more questions than answers, so he stepped forward. He had always been taught intimidation was the best tactic to get what you wanted, even if you were trying to intimidate royalty. As if on impulse, the stern-faced Captain of the Guard stepped forward too, strategically placing himself in between the prince and the threat. Michael, however, didn't look in the least bit threatened, and had the audacity to walk right up to the most dangerous assassin in the Earthenlands, until there was just perhaps a foot between them. "I wouldn't get cocky with me, Winchester. After all, it's your freedom that is on the line."

There was a pause that felt like a lifetime, before Dean finally let out a strangled cry that sounded something like, "My freedom?"

A smirk played on Castiel's lips and Dean glared at him in an attempt to regain some of his dignity, but the guard's expression flicked back to neutral as soon as the assassin's eyes were on him.

"Yes, Winchester, your freedom. So perhaps you want to get your arrogance in check before I have Captain Novak here throw you back into the mines." The Prince stepped away from Dean, turning his back to him in what seemed like another act of foolish audacity. But the Crown Prince had leverage. He somehow knew Dean's desperation for escape, desperation to feel the fresh air on his paling skin. It was pathetic and Dean knew it, but apparently so did Prince Michael, and that changed the whole game.

Dean suddenly realised the Prince was still speaking, "...though perhaps your attitude may be useful. No doubt you are aware my father's empire was hardly built on trust and understanding. You, of all people, should know that." Dean tensed at this. Of course the Prince would know his history with the none-too-friendly Etaecian king. He brought his cool gaze up to meet the steely grey-blue eyes in front of him.

"Where are you going with this?" Dean practically growled. But the Prince carried on, unphased by the assassins cold glare.

"My father, your King, has gotten it into his head that he needs a Champion."

It took a moment for Dean to take this news in, but, when he realised, he couldn’t contain his mirth. He tipped back his head and full on laughed, although the sound came out scratchy from its lack of use. This was hilarious. Apparently Castiel didn't think so, however, as he tilted his head in confusion towards the assassin. Dean would be lying if he didn't say he found the look slightly endearing, so he decided to relieve the guard of his bewilderment and explain his sudden laughter.

"Your father, the King of all of Etaecia, wants _me_ to be his 'Champion'? How is this not the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? What did he run out of noblemen to do that job? No chivalrous knight, or Lord up for the job? Wait, did your noble King even find you lacking, your Princeliness?"

"Watch what you say before a future king, Winchester." Castiel warned from beside him.

"No, but I'm sorry, this is just the craziest thing I have ever heard. The same king who threw me in this hellhole in the first place, now wants to drag me out and make me his bitch? I'm just not buying it."

"Well maybe if you heard the rest of what the Prince has to say, you would be more convinced." The blue eyed man fixed him with another unreadable glare.

Dean rocked back on his heels and turned to face the Prince again, "Well?"

Michael leaned forward from where he had sat himself on the throne, "My Father needs someone to aid the empire - someone to help him manoeuvre around difficult people."

The realisation hit Dean all at once and he wanted to laugh again, this was just too ironic. "He's trying to hire himself a hitman, an assassin to do his dirty work."

"In more or less words, yes." Michael conceded, "His Champion would keep his opponents quiet."

"Quiet as the grave." Dean Winchester smiled fiendishly.

Michael ignored his comment and continued, "As Etaecia's Assassin, if you like, you would kill for the King." Dean bristled at this. Killing for the one he wanted to kill was a price he would have to pay, however, if he wanted his freedom. He contemplated this thought, which did he want more: his freedom or the king's head on a plate? Tough decision, maybe not one he needed to make now.

"And if I accept?" He had to be sure there weren't any hidden terms and conditions to this deal.

"You will be granted your freedom after five years in the King's service." Dean tensed. Five years was a long time. But if he refused, he supposed, he would be thrown back into the salt mines, and that was as good as a death sentence. The word 'freedom' echoed in his brain until all he could see was open fields and sunsets. Yes, perhaps five years of service was a small price to pay for a lifetime of fresh air.

"Alright, I'll do it." Dean straightened up, as if saying those four words made him some kind of hero or something, and he was surprised when he saw that Michael was shaking his head almost pityingly.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Winchester. My father doesn't want any old criminal as his Champion, he wants the best."

"And you're looking at him." Dean replied with a cocky smile.

"No, not yet. You are rusty." It didn't go past anyone's notice the scowl this sentence brought to the assassins face, but he remained silent, so the Prince continued, "And my father wants to have a little fun with this. Therefore he has devised a competition. He has invited fifteen members of his counsel to choose a would-be-Champion to sponsor and train them at the glass castle. Ultimately, these competitors will face each other in a duel, which only one shall win. The others will either die in combat, or be sent back to whatever hole in the world they came from. For you, this would mean a return journey to Bracethrift." A small, slightly sinister smile played on the Prince's lips at this point and Dean almost made for his throat, if it hadn't been for a heavy hand on his shoulder. He swung round to see Castiel stood with his hand on his sword hilt and Dean, with one look into the captain's cold blue eyes, knew this was a basic order to stand down. Dean felt like a reprimanded puppy and he hated it. Hated that one man could make him feel like this, especially this man he had only just met. This 'Castiel' was fast becoming Dean's number 1 'to-be-killed', and not because he angered Dean, but because this power he held over him freaked the assassin out. And if there was one thing Dean hated, it was fear.

When the Crown Prince finally had Dean's attention again, he continued, "Of course, if you win, you will become Etaecia's greatest assassin. Which is a little ironic, since you have already earned that title for doing the complete opposite of what the king wants."

Dean chose to ignore this painful reminder that the boy who once vowed to kill every royal Etaecian would now become the man who vows to kill for every royal Etaecian, and instead asked, "Who would my opponents be?"

"Thieves, assassins, warriors from all across Etaecia." Dean felt his stomach drop. Other assassins? As good as he? Or maybe even better? As if he heard the assassin's questioning, Michael continued, "I don't know exactly but, from what I have heard, none are as famous as you. Although, that reminds me, you won't be competing as you."

"What?!"

"You'll compete under the alias of 'John Bonham'. I don't suppose you realise that no one in Etaecia does, in fact, know what you look like. They all seem to think, me included until today, that you are far older, and we wish to keep it that way."

Dean was good. He knew he was good, and, at the time, that had meant keeping his appearance under the radar, but still a small part of his pride smarted at the fact that people didn't know who he was. They feared a faceless name, not him, and he wasn't being allowed to put a face to it.

"So I'm competing for a name and title that doesn't belong to me? Who does everyone think Etaecia's assassin is?"

"I don't know, nor do I care. All I know is that you were the best, and people still whisper when they say your name." Dean tensed at the word 'were' but a wash of pride fell over him again when he heard that his name was still feared, even if his face wasn't. "So, will you accept my offer and fight as my Champion?"

Dean looked up. The Prince almost sounded pleading. He chanced a glance at Castiel, but his expression was still unreadable so he focused his attention on his nails, cringing as he picked at the dirt under them. This was a huge decision, but he knew he would say yes. He almost laughed at himself.

What would Sammy think of him now? If he saw that Dean was about to agree to become bitch to the man responsible for the death of their parents.... God, he would be so disappointed. But Dean had to shove that thought out of his mind. It was his freedom he was doing this for, not for some asshole king. Sure, for the next five years he was trading one form of slavery for another, but at least he knew this sentence was only five years, not a lifetime. He would go to the Gates of Hell itself if it meant he could have his freedom. He finally lifted his gaze to meet the Prince.

"I'll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER** Some of the content in this chapter is pretty much taken directly from the book so the characters and some of the text is not mine.


	3. Freedom Comes at a Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for taking such a long time to update, but at least I've consistently been updating once a month, right? Yeah, no, I'm a terrible person. But I will go down with this fic! So on to the next chapter.

_The first time the Etaecian raiders had come to his hometown, Lorensen, it had been Dean’s fifth birthday. There was a crash from outside, a horse neighing and someone screaming, before clattering hooves could be heard all along the street. Not long after there had been a loud banging at the door. Mary had grabbed Dean and one-and-a-half year old Sam and pulled them to her, while John had stepped up and opened the door, just as the soldier on the other side had raised his fist to pound the door a second time._

_“Can I help you?” John had a way of seeming so calm, but Dean knew he must be as scared as him, Sammy and his mom._

_“I have come to tell you that Etaecia now owns your capital, and, by order of the new rule, you are to give a third of your rations to your new king.” The soldier sneered. He obviously enjoyed causing pain to those in need, or maybe he just enjoyed causing pain generally._

_“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a third of our rations to give.” John remained calm and determined, even as the soldier’s scowl turned into a nasty sneer._

_“Oh you’ll give them alright, or we have every right to beat you and your family until you’re begging me to kill you.”_

_John’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move to get anything for them. It took two seconds of staring before the soldier drew back his fist and punched John square on the nose. Dean’s dad reeled back in pain and Mary pulled Dean and Sam into her chest, averting their gaze from where their father was being assaulted._

_“Mom..” Dean had cried, “Mom, what’s happening to dad?”_

_“He’s being brave, sweetheart. He’s fighting for what’s right. For what he believes in. The soldiers are bullies, and bullies are never in the right, and you should never fear them, my angels. They are cowards, but you are like daddy. You are brave and fearless. You do not fear those people, those situations that threaten you. You fight them, my brave sons, and you do not fear.”_

_She had kissed the tops of both their heads then and Dean ignored the tear that slipped down her cheek, because she was like dad. She was fearless. And he was going to be just like both of them._

_The bullies won that day, and they had to look after John for months after to get him back to health. But if Dean had been fighting too they would have won. Because Dean was fearless. Dean did not fear the bullies, and he would remind himself of that every day._

*****

It was the morning after the strange meeting and Dean awoke to silence. 

The.. silence.. It wasn’t what he was used to, and he had to pinch himself to check he wasn’t dreaming. He was used to the early morning clanking of chains, moans from the miserable miners and whiplashes from the horrible guards, but this morning there was nothing.

It was only after Dean registered the thin slither of sunlight entering his room from a high window that he remembered where he was, and it wasn't his dark, dank, underground cell in the mines.

He remembered how, last night, he had been bathed for the first time in over a year. How they had scrubbed his back and how it had stung as they had rubbed his wounds raw, drawing fresh blood from some. He winced at that memory. But he also remembered how he had been dressed in comfortable cotton to sleep in, how they'd given him a room in Bracethrift with an actual bed, with actual sheets, and for this he was at least a little grateful.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was still too quiet, but he would adjust to that. He could still feel the ghosts of the shackles that had bound his wrists for the last year, and he had to check his lower arms to be absolutely sure they were gone. As he looked up, the sunlight fell on his face and he squinted. Again, he felt like he was dreaming. There was no way it was real; pure, fresh, warm sunlight bathing his skin. Sunlight he could bask in forever if, no, when he got his freedom.

He stretched out his hand to touch it; he needed it to be real. The glimmer of hope it gave him was as real as it got. As his hand met the morning sunlight, it glowed, but it was pale; pale as snow, and covered in cuts and bruises. Dean cursed as he remembered how his skin once looked, how it had glowed golden brown. It reminded him of how his muscle had been lost, how his once full chest had been reduced to ribs, and he quickly withdrew his hand like he had been burned.

_I do not fear_. He reminded himself of these words and, in the morning sun, these words finally felt like they could ring true again.

Suddenly the door to his room opened and a fresh, awake looking Captain Novak appeared.

"Do they not teach you to knock at The Royal-pain-in-the-ass Academy? Manners, man. And how are you looking so awake right now?"

"Manners do not apply when you are told to ready a murderer. We are to set off in 10 minutes. Put these on." The Captain fixed Dean with another cold glare and threw a bundle of clothes down on the bed.

There was a pause, and when Castiel did not take his leave immediately Dean looked at him. "You're not going to stand there while I dress, right? I may be an assassin but I still have my modesty."

"There are tales that tell otherwise, Winchester. And I have been instructed not to leave your side until we set off. So get dressed."

"Well it turns out he can speak after all! Who knew?" Dean exclaimed in mock horror. Castiel leveled him with a look. “No, no, don’t let me stop you. I was beginning to enjoy the actual conversation, despite the less than subtle dig at my glowing personality.” 

Castiel sighed, seeming bored. “Just get dressed, Winchester.” 

Dean smirked. He wouldn’t let the guard know he actually felt mildly intimidated right now. It paid to keep up a smartass persona, or at least it used to. 

Despite his false bravado, he changed quickly, feeling (God let him never have to repeat these words again) self conscious. The outfit was simple: a forest green hunting tunic, with khaki brown trousers to match and simple brown boots. But the clothes hung loose on his frame, where once he had easily filled an outfit as such. He would rebuild the muscle though, that was okay, but he still had to face the man who must have seen his thin frame. The man who probably scorned him for it.

He shoved these thoughts down and looked back at the Captain. There was no expression to suggest if he scorned or not and Dean couldn't tell if this was a good thing. He didn't care, though, right? He was Dean freaking Winchester and he could kill this guard with his bare hands, no matter how bony he looked. Why the hell should he care what this random guy thought? Right?

Seeming irked at how long Dean was taking to change, and bemused at Dean's self consciousness, no doubt, Castiel finally saw it fitting to half-drag Dean out of the room. The sunlit halls brought Dean's heart back to joy again, though. He could see his freedom now, dancing in those hallways, bouncing off yards of bone-coloured rock. He faltered, however, when he saw, out of one window, the mines directly below. For a second he could hear their morning music: the clanking of chains mixing with the clashes of whips, and, for just a second, he remembered those still down there. He remembered their freedom was still an illusion. The price they were paying for wanting to be free. Every criminal and murderer with a back story, every assassin with a history, every rebel with an old hope. They were filtering like ants, in and out of the mines, their ranks coordinated by hard-faced guards with harder whips.

He shuddered but found himself pushing yet another thought out of his mind. He consoled himself by telling himself, when he was free, he would free the rest of them, but there was no knowing if this would be true. His stomach clenching, he forced himself to look away, keeping up with the Captain as he strode the rest of the way to the courtyard. There, Dean could see a line of horses tied to the castle walls. His last shot at freedom and Dean knew it would be a long one.

"Ah, I see the assassin has finally cared to join us." Dean whipped his head round to see the source of the voice, although he already knew. Duke Campbell was sneering at him from across the courtyard.

"Samuel," Dean visibly flinched when he heard that name, but if anyone noticed they didn't say. "Go and fetch Mr Winchester his horse." A second voice joined the mix.

"Mr Winchester, is it now? I didn't know we had hit such formalities, your Princliness." Dean smirked, regaining his composure as quickly as he had let it slip.

The Crown Prince just looked at him, like an amused cat toying with a too-bold mouse, before redirecting his attention. "Castiel, prepare him to ride. We leave in 5." And with that he walked off to mount his grey steed.

"Well, that was rude." Dean countered, and again he caught Castiel looking at him with something that resembled amusement, before his face flicked back to expressionless.

"Come with me. Our horses are tethered over here."

"Wow, we sure are feeling chatty today, aren't we Captain?" Castiel actually rolled his eyes at this one, which led to a warm feeling of pride spreading through Dean's chest. He had actually got the emotionless statue of a man to react to something.

Castiel led them over to two horses tied at the edge of the courtyard, with a still-smirking Dean hot on his heels. The first of the two was a sleek black thoroughbred stallion, that looked far too proud of himself. The second was a chubby Clydesdale mare, with plate-sized hooves and a bumbling look about her (if horses could have that). The mare immediately nuzzled up to Dean, sniffing his pockets for treats, her massive head almost knocking his wasted frame off balance.

"Hey, woah there, horse. I ain't got any treats for you so what you doing barging me around like that for?" Dean grumbled, but his annoyance turned into something closer to pity when the horse looked at him with (could it possibly be) remorse. "Aw, you stupid mare, going and making me feel bad for grumbling at you." He petted her muzzle.

"When you and your horse are finished, would you like to mount anytime soon?" Dean suddenly realised Captain Novak was already mounted on his black steed, and was staring down at him, frustration written all over his face.

If it didn't freak Dean out that he found this frustration adorable, he would've laughed. "Alright pony, the grumpy man thinks I'm being too nice to you and is getting impatient," He side-eyed Castiel, who's frustration had only deepened. "So I guess I'm gonna have to get on you now." He went round the side of the horse and mounted as gracefully as possible, which he assumed was not gracefully at all when he saw the amused expression flash once again across the Captain's face.

"Cut me some slack, dude, it's been years since I last got on a horse." Castiel raised his eyebrows ever so slightly before slowly leaning over. When his face was barely inches from Dean’s, Dean felt his breath hitch. For a moment, the air between them was tangible. But only for a moment. For, as quickly as the spell had been created, it was broken, by the cold familiar snap of shackles on his wrists. Despite this, Dean couldn’t help but follow slightly as Castiel rose back up and he immediately cursed himself for it. 

His eyes followed the chain to Castiel's horse , where it disappeared beneath the saddlebag. For just a second, Dean had felt like he could fly out of his saddle. Now he was pulled back to cold, hard reality. He was no more free than he was in the mines, even if he could feel the fresh air on his face and see the sky aligned above him. And the man next to him was nothing more than a soldier sent to execute him should he step out of line. He scowled. He had not come this far to be chained up again.

He clanked his chains against the saddle and flicked his eyes to the Captain of the Guard. Nothing. Not even a glimpse of reaction. Dean's scowl deepened. 

He didn't have long to think about his hatred for the chains however, because now six guards on horseback gathered round, flanking his overweight Clydesdale from all sides. The Prince and Duke Campbell led the party, with two flag bearing guards behind them. Castiel, Dean and his multitude of guards came behind them, and, in this formation, they were ready to leave Bracethrift.

Dean watched as the iron gates clanked open in front of him. Somewhere behind him, he heard a crack of a whip followed by a scream; a reminder of those who might never leave the mines, forced to dig their own mass graves, only to fill them every day. He suddenly became hyper aware of the gashes that lined his back, and of the chains that swung between his wrists. Yet in some painful juxtaposition to this, behind the wrought iron spikes of the gate sunlit grasslands stretched for miles. He could almost imagine running through them, a dream of paradise.

Instead, he felt the cold chains as he was pulled through. He got a glimpse of the bronze lettering lining the gates, reading BRACETHRIFT, like some kind of twisted welcome mat.

Another tug on his chained wrists and he was through, the mines were behind him and ahead lay acres of grassland and open space. So why didn't he feel any nearer to freedom?


	4. Freedom is a Longshot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm actually a terrible person. I've been away from this fic for over a year, but I have been writing for it! I'm not gunna lie, I'm scared to update this right now because I don't honestly know when the next chapter will be up, and I hate leading you guys on. But I'm trying, I swear! Also, for anyone who started this fic last year, and is kinda hating on me for not continuing it, I recommend you go back and re-read the fic so far, because there have been some serious editing done to it. Like I basically went back and revised my whole writing, and added flashbacks to flesh out the story and yeah, so you definitely need to re-read it if you're going to stick with me. And please tell me what you think of the changes in the comments! I'm going to try and set some personal deadlines for when next chapters will be up but I don't know what they will be thanks to my life being stupid and hectic! I want you to know that I love you guys who are reading this and I can honestly say it's your comments and kudos that are truly pushing me to carry on with this, so please keep that up. (Particular shout-out to one commenter who is the reason I'm updating right this minute, you know who you are). Thanks for sticking with my pain-in-the-butt. So here's the next chapter.

As the morning wore on, Dean grew bored. He started swinging his chains side to side, watching them sway and clank between him and the Captain of the Guard. It was attached to his saddle, which was cinched around his horse, which, when they stopped, could be subtly unbridled, just enough so that with a fierce tug from Dean’s end, the chain would rip the saddle off the beast, he’d tumble to the ground, and Dean could—

Suddenly he sensed Captain Novak’s attention. He stared at Dean beneath lowered brows, his lips tightly pursed, and the assassin dropped the chains, sheepishly examining the dirt under his fingernails until he was certain the Captain had looked away.

Nevertheless, five minutes later, he found himself doing it again. This warranted a second glare from the Captain, and a sharp tug on the metal chains, as if they had insulted him personally. Again, Dean stopped, but this time he decided to give Castiel his best impression of a kicked puppy, although puppy-eyes had always been his brother’s talent. This attempt to gain sympathy seemed only to harden Castiel’s glare, however, so Dean rolled his eyes and went back to doing absolutely nothing.

The third time Dean clanked his chains, it was because he was not only being a child, but a decidedly hungry one at that. It had to be nearing lunchtime, right? This time, Castiel actually leaned over the horses in what looked like a downright uncomfortable position (not that Dean was complaining since said position just happened to reveal a thin sliver of beautifully tanned skin and a sharp hipbone that made him wish they were shackled together for an entirely different reason) and, finally, Dean was going to get his shackles off. Or at least so he thought, until he realised he couldn’t move his wrists at all. “You tightened them, you ass!” The grin dropped off Dean’s face as quickly as smugness took over the Captain’s. Dean clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead, stoically refusing to acknowledge that the tables had turned. Castiel turned his gaze away too, though amusement still played on his lips. They rode on in silence. 

*****

_Dean stood facing the biggest, tallest, fiercest warrior of them all, but he wasn’t scared._

_“You can’t beat me, Lord Oak, I am the Fearless Warrior!_ I do not fear! _” And he charged, driving his sword right in where flesh met bone._

_Or where bark met leaf. The large oak tree still stood tall, unwavered by the Mighty Six-year-old’s attack. Dean huffed and kicked at the dirt. He wished Sammy was old enough to play with him._

_“You know, you’re getting good, kid. I’m fairly certain I saw at least one leaf fall just then.”_

_Dean turned towards the familiar gruff voice. “Uncle Bobby! Daddy said you were away fighting the resist-is-stance.” Dean exclaimed, stumbling over the bigger words he hadn’t quite mastered yet._

_Bobby huffed a laugh. “Well, your dad’s not wrong, but I can always spare a few minutes for my favourite nephews.” And if he also had some grave news from the front for Dean’s parents, well a six-year-old kid didn’t need to know that._

_Dean grinned and carried on the joke that they always made. “We’re your only nephews, Uncle Bobby!”_

_“Well, I guess that would still make you my favourites then.” Bobby smiled as he picked Dean up and swung him round. Dean giggled, feeling as though he could fly. When Bobby finally put him down, he missed the sensation and begged Bobby to swing him again. But his uncle laughed, telling him “Maybe later, but first I need to have a word with your parents, alright?”_

_Dean nodded reluctantly, and watched as Bobby walked towards the house. When he was sure his uncle was out of sight, he picked up his sword (wooden stick) and chased after him, planning on sneaking up on the unsuspecting adults and making them jump, and then maybe they would play with him._

_But when he reached the wooden door to their hut, he could hear whispers of their conversation that made him stop in his tracks._

_“I didn’t want to say this in front of the kids.” That was Uncle Bobby’s gruff tone._

_“It’s alright here. Sammy is sleeping and Dean is playing in the yard. Just, whatever you have to say, say it quickly.” That was definitely his mom. Why were they whispering?_

_There was a pause before Dean heard his father ask, “How bad is it?”_

_“Bad. We’re losing on all fronts. The resistance is calling a retreat to the West. Etaecia has won and it’s not safe in Cansan anymore. Not for anyone who was affiliated with the resistance. We’ve got a death penalty hanging over our head.”_

_“Cansan has been our home country for as long as we’ve been alive. We stay hidden, they won’t find us, we can raise our children here. I won’t leave.”_

_“Please, Mary, you have to believe me when I tell you it’s not safe. They will find you. I’ve lost so many good friends already, I don’t want to lose any more.”_

_It didn’t pass Dean’s notice that his dad hadn’t spoken on the matter. Whatever his dad said, Dean knew it would be what they did. It always had been what they did. His dad always made the right decision._

_“John? What should we do?” His mom’s voice sounded almost pleading._

_There was a sigh and then his father spoke, “We won’t leave. I’m sorry Bobby, but we can’t uproot our kids like that. They need a stable home and the West is known for being dangerous, especially for children. We keep our heads down and we’ll be fine. I wish you the best, and I hope we see each other again under better circumstances.”_

_“Of course.” Bobby didn’t sound happy about the decision, more as though he was resigned to it. “Under better circumstances. John, Mary, I wish you all the best. Give my love to Sam, I’ll say goodbye to Dean on my way out.”_

_There was the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and Dean ran back to the oak and started waving his sword, as if he had never stopped playing. He wasn’t surprised this time when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him._

_“You know, if you just adjust the way you’re holding the stick here and bend your knees a little more…” Bobby adjusted Dean’s positioning and guided the willing youngster through a series of stabs and slashes. “You see, I could make a great swordsman of you kid. Just like your father.”_

_“Dad fights with a sword?” Dean asked, enthralled._

_“Not anymore, but he used to. Before the Etaecian attack.” Dean shivered as he remembered that day, over a year ago now. “He was good. Maybe you will be too, kiddo.”_

_“I’m not going to be good. I’m going to be great! I’ll fight all the monsters away from my little brother. I promised I would. I’m going to grow up to be a hero, just like my dad.” Dean’s grin was toothy, but sincere. He believed those words with all his heart._

_Bobby chuckled, a low and deep resonant sound. “You’ll certainly grow up to be something, kid. It’s in your blood. You ever want some training with some real metal? You just come to me. You’re parents’ll know how to find me. I gotta get going, you take care of your little brother now.”_

_“I always will Uncle Bobby!” Dean smiled as he wrapped his arms around his uncle’s legs. He let go and the older man ruffled his hair before he started to walk away. But before he could get very far, Dean called out, “And Uncle Bobby?”_

_“Yeah, kid?”_

_“Don’t be gone for so long this time? I want to learn proper sword skills soon!”_

_Bobby smiled, it hurt him how much he loved these kids. “I’ll see you soon, son.” And with that, he turned and walked away._

*****

By midday, they had passed from the Bracian grasslands into the mountainous country that separated them from fairer Etaecia. Thick forest shrouded the base of the mountains, creating a landscape that was nearly impossible to navigate unless you knew the path well. Of course, this was exactly the affect the Etaecian King had been after; separating his Eastern lands from more ‘uncivilised’ territory of the West.

West or East had never mattered to Dean when he was working, though he knew legends were told of people from the far Western lands who were cruel and bloodthirsty descendants of the Grand Coven of Witches. He had met a young woman from that cursed land once and he had learned, no matter how twisted a witch’s souls was, she had started off as human. And she still bled as one. 

After hours of silence, Dean couldn’t bare listening to his own thoughts anymore. Instead he spoke, “Word’s out that when the king has finished his war in the far East, he’ll begin colonising the West.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but was secretly relying on the Captain to confirm or deny. The more he could find out about the King’s current placement in the war and battle schemes, the better. Castiel, however, continued looking stoically straight ahead. Dean pretended to sigh heavily. “I know, the fate of some wide empty plains and miserable mountainous areas seems dull to me too.” 

Still, there was no response from the Captain.

“Nope, still ignoring me, huh?”

Finally, Castiel turned to Dean, brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t know I was ignoring you.” 

“Well low and behold, he does have a voice.” Dean commented, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“I believe you were already aware I could talk, Winchester. This is not our first conversation, after all.” Castiel stated so neutrally, Dean honestly couldn’t work out if he was joking or not. 

“You really don’t get sarcasm, do you?” Another long silence ensued, before Dean huffed out his irritation and decided to change the subject. “How old are you?” 

If Castiel was surprised by the conversation change, he didn’t show it. “Twenty-one.” He answered simply. 

“You’re kinda young to be Captain of the Guard then. Didn’t take you long to climb the ranks?” 

Castiel just shook his head and left the topic alone.

“Of course, I also know what it’s like to have accomplished so much at such a young age, being only nineteen, thank you for asking.” Dean was fishing for any sort of reaction from the man now and he knew it, but he was bored with little else to do, and besides, in the long run he might find out something useful about his captor, if he would rise to the bait.

“Crime is not an accomplishment, Winchester.”

“No, but becoming Earthenland’s most famous assassin is.” Cue another beat of awkward silence. Dean had never had to try so hard for conversation in his life. “Don’t you want to know how I did it?” 

“Did what?” And seriously, what was the deal with this guy?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe how I became so talented and so famous so quickly.” 

“I’m not interested.”

And that, that was not the response Dean had been after. He had always been known to be pushy, but the Captain? He just would not budge. 

“You’re not a great conversationalist, are you?” Dean gritted his teeth to hide his frustration. He was getting tired of these one-sided conversations, but couldn’t fathom how to get the Captain of the Guard to open up.

“You are a criminal. I am Captain of the Royal Guard. I have no obligation to bestow you with any sort of conversation. You are lucky his Royal Highness did not see fit to keep you locked up in a wagon.”

“Yeah, but I’d wager you’re not much of a talker even around those you are ‘obligated’ to talk to.” Again, the lack of response left Dean feeling like he’d lost somehow. He left it a few minutes before he broke the silence again. “So, you and the Prince, are you good friends, brothers? I mean, what’s up with the whole dark hair and blue eyes thing?”

“My personal life is none of your concern.”

Dean was sure the blank-faced Captain was looking more tense than before though, so he was definitely about to make it his concern. “How well born are you?” 

“Well enough.” His chin lifted almost imperceptibly higher.

“So, what? You’re a Lord?”

“No.”

“What about Duke?” Silence. Dean grinned. “Duke Castiel Novak. I could see it.” 

“I’m not a Duke, either.” Castiel amended quickly.

“Well, you’ve got to have a title, working as ‘Captain of the Royal Guard’, surely? So, what is it? Earl? Marquess? Baron? Viscount?” Each title was said with more mocking than the last. “Hmm, what about Prince?” Castiel flinched. It had only been a minute movement but Dean’s trained eye had caught it. He had been totally joking with the last one, but maybe…. 

“Shall I gag you, or are you capable of remaining quiet without my assistance?” Castiel’s gravelly voice cut through Dean’s thought like a knife. His face had gone from pinched back to carefully blank again. The assassin knew he wouldn’t get anywhere by prying further tonight, so he stored that information for later. Maybe, just maybe, it would come in handy. 

For now, however, he would just have to change tactic. “How old were you when you became Captain of the Guard?” 

“Nineteen.” 

Dean opened his mouth to say more, when suddenly the horses in front came to a halt in a clearing. “Why have we stopped?” 

Castiel gracefully dismounted his steed, unhooked the chain from his saddle and gave it a yank, signalling that Dean should follow. “Lunch.” 

Dean dismounted with a great deal less grace than Castiel had shown, but he did have his hands tied up, and followed the Captain into the clearing. Had they been alone, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to escape, though the chains would’ve made the job difficult. But one look at the entourage of royal guards trained to kill without hesitation, Dean quickly decided against it. Besides he was grateful for the opportunity to eat finally. 

When the food arrived on his lap he practically shoved his chains at Castiel for him to remove them. When he didn’t immediately, Dean grew frustrated. But finally, Castiel brought the key up, removing them slowly and clamping them on the assassin’s ankles instead. Dean huffed out a sigh, but decided right now eating was more important than the chains, especially if he was going to be able to eat it all without throwing any of it up. 

As he ate, he took in their surroundings. The soldiers and horses took up nearly all of the space, chatting amongst themselves, many looking as relieved at the rest as he was. Across the clearing, as far from the assassin as possible, sat the Crown Prince and Duke Campbell. While Michael had been all arrogance and thinly veiled amusement the previous night, his features were grave as he spoke to the duke. His entire body seemed tensed, and Dean didn’t fail to notice the way he clenched his jaw when Campbell spoke. Whatever their relationship was, it wasn’t cordial.

Suddenly, everything stilled. It was like the forest had taken a breath and was waiting to exhale. Dean’s attention got caught by the trees and the feeling that came over him caused him to shiver. He wasn’t the only one. The soldiers too had quieted and stilled, tension biting through the air.

“The sooner the King burns through this forest the better.” One of the soldiers grumbled.

“It’s full of hate.” Groused another.

Dean tensed. “Did you expect anything else?” The soldiers turned to him sneering and Castiel’s hand automatically found his sword hilt. “It’s Fae territory, you never heard the stories of Old King Stonn?” 

“Any Fae were wiped out years ago. Old King Stonn is Old King Gone by now.” The other soldiers laughed at the terrible joke and Dean clenched his jaw. He couldn’t afford to speak out of line, not even when the soldiers were being so disrespectful. 

“What do you know about the forest?” Castiel spoke softly, under the jokes and laughter of the other men. Dean couldn’t work out if he was being mocked, but the Captain’s bright blue eyes only held curiosity. 

“Before Etaecia started this goddamn war, the forest was cloaked in magic. My mom used to tell me stories…” Dean suddenly caught himself. He didn’t mention anything personal to enemies, it was one of Bobby’s Golden Rules. “But, that’s all I know for sure.” He finished lamely. They both knew he was lying, but Castiel didn’t press for anymore answers.

Dean could never forget the stories of Stonn Wood. Stories his mother would whisper to him and Sammy on the darkest nights. Stories of faeries, nymphs, goblins and more, all ruled over by the elder immortal cousin, Fae. 

But over time, Etaecia became a corrupt nation and the king began a campaign to hunt these magical beings down and execute them. The Fae fled, seeking shelter in the wild, untouched places of the world. The King of Etaecia outlawed it all—unholy magic, Fae, faeries—and removed any trace so thoroughly that even those who had this magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Dean himself being one of them. The king had claimed that magic was an affront to God and should only be wielded through the heavens. To do so otherwise was to imitate God’s power, and was impure and sinful.

With that in mind, 10 years ago the king had ordered the burnings. Attacks and raids on libraries, hospitals and shops. Anywhere suspected of housing what he deemed ‘unholy’ magic. Dean’s nightmares were still haunted by the screams of gifted seers and healers as they’d been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history, and the smoke of burning books full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge. Many of the ungodly magic-users who hadn’t been burned wound up prisoners in Bracethrift—and most didn’t survive long there. 

Some treacherous part of Dean, however, still thought that despite the carnage, perhaps it was good that magic had vanished. His brother always disagreed, but Dean reasoned that it was far too dangerous for any sane person to wield; his old gifts still haunted him, and they might have destroyed him by this point.

Wind rippled through the trees, as the forest released it’s breath, bringing Dean back to the present. The soldiers were packing up lunch and Castiel was undoing the chains from his ankles. Dean quickly pulled his wrists against his chest before the Captain of the Guard could get the cuffs around them, but instead of demanding he hold his hands out, Castiel leaned into him, took Dean’s wrists in his hands forced the chains around them. Like this, their faces were only inches apart and Dean’s breath caught in his throat, again. If he just leaned forward, their lips would… And no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not if he was getting his freedom. 

Just like before, the moment passed and Castiel was leaning away from him again, Dean’s wrists in chains. He tugged at them as he fastened them to his saddle and Dean huffed out a laugh, realising he had been well and truly got that time. Turned out, despite how awkward Captain of the Royal Guard, Castiel Novak, came across, he could be downright sneaky if he tried. 

After that, the party quickly packed up lunch and set off, and Dean spent the remainder of the day’s travelling doing his very best to ignore his guard’s existence. 

This was not helped however when they stopped for the night and made camp. Tents were laid out quickly and efficiently by the soldiers, the Crown Prince’s of course being the grandest, seconded by Duke Campbell’s. Dean, however, was graced with a small subcompartment of Captain Novak’s tent, to be flanked with at least three soldiers at any time of night. He had asked the Captain if his chains would be removed overnight but Castiel had simply tightened them in response. 

“You know, when I imagined being chained up in bed this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Dean joked.

“Well it’s thanks to your own criminal tendencies that I have to keep you chained at all times of night.” 

Dean choked on air. It took one look at Castiel’s face to realise that he was being serious and that just made Dean want to laugh even more. 

“Is that your way of telling me I’ve been a bad boy, Captain?”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t understand that reference.” 

Dean smothered another laugh. “Flirting, Captain. Innuendo. It’s - you know what, nevermind.” 

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I think you should sleep, Winchester. Keep your ‘innuendo’ to yourself.” 

Dean shrugged, smirking. “I’ve kept it to myself for a year. I guess I can wait a little longer.”

Clearly, still not understanding, Castiel ended the conversation by turning away to his own bed, which was raised off the ground, unlike Dean’s. The assassin could feel every lump of digging into his back, and every bug crawling underneath him. It was safe to assume he wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight. 

After tossing and turning for more than three hours, eventually the exhaustion set in. When Dean finally let himself fall into slumber, he didn’t dream. But when he woke up, no more than two hours later, he could hardly believe his eyes.

Small footprints led in and out of the tent and pure white flower petals surrounded his bedspread. He could hear Captain Novak beginning to stir, so in a rush he brushed the footprints away with his foot, destroying and trace of the tracks, and stuffed the petals into his pocket. 

No one mentioned seeing anything strange that night, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Small movements in the corner of his vision and distinct tracks running into the forest consistently plagued his mind. It was paranoia, Dean was sure. There was no way it could be Fae, after all these years. But Dean couldn’t keep his heartbeat steady for the rest of the day’s journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is totally going to sound like I'm bribing you guys now, but I was serious when I said your comments give me motivation! So I've come up with a system to get me off my ass and writing: for every motivational/constructive comment I receive I will write 100 words.
> 
> You can also bug me at my tumblr,[ here](http://guesswhofell-itscastiel.tumblr.com/).


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